


Written in the Scars on Our Hearts

by eyesonfire



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, future!fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-07
Updated: 2013-02-07
Packaged: 2017-11-28 13:08:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/674736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eyesonfire/pseuds/eyesonfire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They stand, looking at each other, and Harry tries to pretend he's not drinking in the sight of Louis on his doorstep, framed by the low Los Angeles afternoon sun, lazily sinking. </p>
<p>Or the one in which it was all too much but late is much better than never.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Written in the Scars on Our Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> Lyrics / inspiration from Pink/Nate Ruess "Just Give Me a Reason."

 

 

It's been three years since it ended, three years of tear ducts and rust, breathing in the dust that the remains of his heart left behind.

 

Three years of pouring drinks and smiling like his chest wasn't aching and holding it all in, because he couldn’t break down and cry and scream when there was no one to blame.

 

Three years of remembering the empty sheets that separated them, three years of wondering where it all went wrong.

 

(He'd thought they'd been fine.)

 

They hadn't been fine, nothing was fine, and the distance between them grew until one day the lock of the door was a lot more than a temporary goodbye and Harry walked out of their home that had been their everything.

 

There had been no more talking, the closeness between them stretched into tension and anger and bitter until the bad dreams became all too much and they both became numb.

 

Three years of numbness and bitterness and a wistful yearning that he pretended he couldn't feel. Because he couldn’t wish for it back when it had gone so horribly wrong, couldn’t wish for Louis when he was the one who finally walked.

 

Three years of trying to move on, forcing his blood to pump again from an empty heart, acting like he could love again when there was a promise in every breath that he couldn't.

 

Three years of jumping up at knocks on the door and swallowing his heart when it jumped into his throat at the sight of striped tops and chinos. Because a part of him, beneath the numb and the bitter and the painful distance wanted nothing more than for Louis to follow him, nothing more than for Louis to say ‘fuck you’ to everything that ever held them apart and chase him to Los Angeles and sweep him up tight against the world.

 

Three years of a frustrating, burning nothing and three years of an empty house and an empty chest.

 

~

 

All in a rush, nothing becomes _something_ and he's here, sudden and surprising. He's older and wiser and even more beautiful and something deep and dormant in Harry's chest throbs painfully. He wants to reach a finger out and touch Louis' face, make sure if he's real or if this is happening in his head.

 

"Hi," He says, inadequate and awkward and painful after three years of silence. There's so much he wants to say, so many things he could say but he bites his tongue and twists his hands behind his back.

 

"Harry," Louis says and there is a thump somewhere in Harry's throat.

 

"It's been a while," He says, and his voice is rough like he hasn't used it at all during that time.

 

They stand, looking at each other, and Harry tries to pretend he's not drinking in the sight of Louis on his doorstep, framed by the low Los Angeles afternoon sun, lazily sinking.

 

"It has," Louis agrees. "Can I come in?" He asks, and Harry's gut twists in warning.

 

"Fine," He says, and he crosses his fingers behind his back, because that’s just one more lie to add to the pile.

 

(It’s not fine.)

 

There's tea, and sugar, and "how have you been?" and Harry is pretty sure this is torture. He's avoided Louis for three years, staying in America, never visiting home and suddenly he's here, blown inside his house like a wayward leaf carried on the wind.

 

~

 

The topic of _them_ is washed inevitably up on the dry shore of their stilted conversation, and Harry suddenly feels the most alive he has in years. He's terrified, his mouth is dry and his palms sweaty and he knows this is dragging blades over old scars but he doesn't look down from Louis' eyes and he doesn't change the topic.

 

He'd given Louis everything, his heart, his body, the parts of him that weren't all that pretty, and Louis fixed them and gave his own to Harry in return, gave everything to him and held Harry's close.

 

Harry would say Louis had stolen his heart at first glance, all those years ago, but it’s impossible to steal something that one gives freely. He was a willing victim and Louis ended up just as robbed as he.

 

They loved each other so much, but it wasn't enough, in the end.

 

"Just give me a reason," He says, and he bites the inside of his cheek because he doesn't know if this is a good idea. Bringing this up is opening old wounds, and he winces at the thought of how long he'll take to recover this time around. He can still taste the lipstick that smelt like betrayal on Louis’ lips.

 

"We were young," Louis says weakly, watery voice and dropped eyes and Harry blinks rapidly.

 

"We could have made it work." He argues, and Louis hangs his head.

 

"It was too much."

 

He doesn't argue. It was too much, everything was too much and too heavy for two young boys who only ever wanted the world.

 

‘I’m sorry’, burns on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t move his lips around the words. Because he's not sorry for leaving, not sorry for finally ending the painful silence that had become their shroud. He's sorry for everything that happened before that, sorry for the beards and the fame and the lies but he can’t make himself be sorry for not prolonging the torture any longer than it needed to be.

 

Louis can tell, and Harry thinks that maybe he doesn’t need to be sorry, because Louis is sorry enough for the both of them.

They talk, and the conversation flows like a spring in the summertime and it’s almost like nothing has changed. Louis' voice hasn't, still the same voice that spoke to him while Louis was sleeping, the secrets that he kept.

 

But there's an edge, a slight bitter tang to the sweet, familiar warmth and it's sort of like a dream that isn’t quite bad but isn’t quite good. But Harry's trembling hands tell him that it’s real, that his head isn't running wild and this is really happening.

 

They sit for hours, the flickering neon lights of the city shimmering outside the window. Harry watches them and Louis watches Harry and maybe Louis is seeing everything that Harry won’t say.

 

"Can we walk?" Louis asks, later, when the sun has disappeared and the moon has flown high.

 

"Of course," Harry says and he wonders if he'll leave shards of his re-broken heart on the ground as they stroll.

 

His thoughts are a messy kaleidoscope of Louis-flavoured memories.

 

Harry watches the stars, and Louis watches Harry, his telescope eyes seeing everything and Harry thinks that maybe late is better than never.

 

They stand on the cool sand of the beach, city lights bright and distant behind them, moon cool and high overhead. The distance between them is only feet but it’s spaced with broken hearts, peppered with old memories and covered by three years of loneliness.

 

Louis splashes the water as he walks, and if Harry didn't know better he would swear he loved him.

 

They walk in silence, gentle crashing of waves and footsteps.

 

He half wants the stars to collide, to explode and rain down in burning snowflakes around them so they don't have to talk.

 

But then he finds himself a little bit jealous of the way Louis looks at the moon and feels his heart beat a little louder in his chest.

 

It taps out a rhythm of "Louis, Louis, Louis," and it's maybe the most beautiful beat that has ever been played.

 

It's a warning too though, it's foreboding and unhappy and Harry would listen to the anxious feeling if this wasn't inevitable.

 

The water laps at his ankles, sending a tingling chill right up through his toes to his fingers and it's somehow a lot like the bubbles that used to fizz in his system when Louis touched him.

 

"I never stopped loving you," Louis says into the quiet and Harry swallows hard.

 

There’s something burning in his chest, building in his body and he might explode with it. Just a second, and it’s gone.

 

"I'm broken," he says to Louis and his voice cracks even as he clenches his hands into fists that he wants to use to fight away the feeling in his chest.

 

"You're not broken," Louis tells him, and the utter honesty in his voice breaks Harry's heart all over again.

 

"We're just bent," Louis continues, and he almost smiles and Harry almost laughs and they don't quite do either.

 

"We can learn to love again," Louis tells the ocean, not looking at Harry and he scuffs his toe into the water and kicks the reflection of the moon into a rippling light.

 

"Can we?" Harry asks, sceptical and scarred. 

 

"Yes," Louis says firmly. "We were young and naive and it was all too much. But I never stopped loving you, and I don't think you stopped loving me."

 

Harry can't deny it, even when the sweat on his palms spells "lie," even when the chill up his spine says "lie," even when the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and whisper "lie."

 

Because he's never lied to Louis and even now, when it would hurt less to not tell the truth he can't. He won't. He stays silent for a long time, and Louis stands quiet beside him.

 

The stars dance prettily above them, and the dim light highlights Louis' face, sending the hollows beneath his cheek bones into shocking relief when Harry sneaks glances at him. It's a shot to the system, a rush of adrenaline and awe and feelings that Harry thought he'd well and truly buried.

 

He'd told himself they were gone, but he was never a good liar, even to himself.

 

Maybe things weren't as bad as they had seemed, maybe the struggles that had taken over their minds had just been run away with in their heads and maybe they could have everything again.

 

The stars seem to spell Louis and the scars on the surface of Harry's heart draw a shaky picture of his name.

 

"We were always written in the stars," Harry says finally and its neither confirming nor denying anything but Louis seems to understand anyway. He moves a little closer and takes Harry's hand in his.

 

"I think we were," Louis says to the waves and he smiles gently. Harry ducks his head, a self-conscious little habit he never quite kicked.

 

"Just give me a reason," He says again, completely different now. He twists his fingers with Louis' small warm ones, still staring out at the moon that's staring back. The words somehow taste like hope in his mouth.

 

"Because I love you," Louis says like it’s everything and maybe it could be, this time. Maybe it could be enough. Harry thinks gravity might be falling around them.

 

"And you love me," Louis continues, his thumb gently stroking the back of Harry's palm, sending shivers up Harry's arm which turn into ripples in his heart like on the surface of the water.

 

"And we can learn to love again," And Harry turns to face him, finally, because maybe they can and maybe it will be enough.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
